


Curses and Witchcraft and Sex. Oh My!!

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Supernatural Overtones, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 19:36:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12489284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: Curses, spell casting and the approach of All Hallow's Eve come to Baker Street. John is clueless, and Sherlock is a man of logic and reason - until he isn't.





	Curses and Witchcraft and Sex. Oh My!!

**Author's Note:**

> There is no such thing as a hex or curse, witchcraft is nonsense and sentiment is not an advantage. These are all proven truths that Sherlock Holmes will not deny. But, experiments are always advisable, after all- it's for science.

CURSES

"A curse on you Sherlock Holmes", shrieked the gnarled and wizened old woman, her long gray hair whipping through the air as she thrashed about. John Watson groaned as he picked himself off the pavement, and Greg Lestrade grunted as he struggled to subdue her without injury. Sherlock stood apart observing the melee and wondered that this woman, who might have easily been a hundred years old, possessed such strength. 

"Bloody hell", Greg yelled as she bit down on his arm, spittle flying and drool dripping down her chin.

Sherlock snorted derisively, "Come now Goblin, she only has one tooth. Surely you can't be that fragile."

"Piss off you tosser. It may only be one tooth, but it's sharp as a knife."

Undeterred, Sherlock continued with a smirk, "Still, not your finest hour, Lestrade. The Daily Mail would pay handsomely for this exclusive- "Scotland Yard's Finest soundly defeated in brawl with pensioner."

By this time, John had abandoned aiding Greg in favor of putting a muzzle on his flatmate before disaster ensued. At that moment, the prisoner managed to slip a restraint from one hand and began clawing at some unseen thing. As Greg tried to regain control, John was stopped in his tracks by her eyes. One was coal black, while the other had no pigment, a bulging orb of ghostly white.

Reaching up, she covered her good eye and glared at Sherlock. "Look upon my evil eye, from this day until you lie deep beneath unholy ground, peace for you will not be found. Spirits of the Darkness heed, this your spawn of evil's plea, bring this man all pain perverse, Satan's blessing on this curse!"

All three men jumped as a deafening crash of thunder split the air. "What the fuck was that?", panted John, "There isn't a cloud in the sky."

Sherlock sneered, "Clearly John, I am to be hexed by the denizens of the "Black Arts."

At this, the prisoner became docile. "Now you begin to understand young man. The Fates will have their way with you, and I shall have my revenge." As her maniacal laughter turned to screams, Lestrade shrugged and loaded her into a panda car.

"Well mates, I'll leave the mumbo jumbo to you. Have to make time for my job and that "interview" with the Mail. Try to get home without getting into anymore trouble will you? After this I'd rather a pint than a trip to A&E with you lot."

As they watched him drive away John grinned, "Guess we'll need to have a care until we see if your curse appears."

"Don't be dull John. Curses, Witchcraft, Voodoo- it's all just utter rubbish."

"To be fair Sherlock, voodoo really isn't..."

"Are you deliberately trying to annoy me?"

"YePPPP! How am I doing?"

"Exceedingly well, I'm sorry to report. As to your concern, ridiculous! Evil eyes, incantations, magic, BAH! Nothing more than childish tricks born of a desire to produce a bunny out of the ether waves only to find it's shit in your hat."

John had to laugh at that, "If you say so, Mr. Holmes. Still mind the ladders and black cats."

Sherlock sniffed haughtily and turning, Belstaff swirling, he stomped off.

 

***~~~***

 

The walk to the main road was a short one, and Sherlock wasn't about to allow his brilliance go to waste. "Inconceivable John, so many becoming the victims of the threats of a murderous charleton. Those who believed in her "potions and spells" succumbed to her blackmail, and those who did not, met a gruesome end which she blamed on her "powers". What astounding ignorance. The mind boggles."

"Lots of people DO believe though Sherlock. Just because you don't, doesn't mean it can't scare the pants off others."

"I wouldn't recommend going pantless for you John. You're too susceptible to chills. Now kindly stand back and be amazed by my power to hail a cab."

 

Twenty minutes later, they were still without a cab and John was getting a tad cross. "Must you be so damned stubborn? Let's just walk a bit further and try again. If that doesn't work, we'll take the tube."

Sherlock bristled. "As you seem to have all the answers, perhaps you should work YOUR magic to get us a cab.", he growled.

Good naturedly rising to the bait, John executed a perfect pirouette and, raising his arm in a "royal wave", shouted, "Come oh cab, my feet are sore, take me home right to my door. Abracadabra!!" To his amazement, a cab instantly stopped right beside them.

Sherlock, both disgusted and appalled, balked at climbing in until John "sweetly" convinced him that he WOULD gladly leave Sherlock on the pavement and go home alone.

Stroppy as a two year old in need of a nap, Sherlock's mood darkened even more when a loud ripping sound accompanied his entering the cab announcing, to one and all, that the seat of his bespoke trousers had been torn asunder.

Wisely, John kept his thoughts to himself choosing not to poke the angry "otter". The remainder of the night was NOT pleasant.

 

***~~~***

 

WITCHCRAFT

The next week was, it seemed, truly cursed. Not only was "THE WORK" abysmally absent, but Sherlock's luck (although he would deny such a thing existed) had been nothing but bad. Molly had not even a single toenail to offer for his perusal, his experiments, even the most simplistic, were complete failures and everyday activities seemed doomed. New violin strings broke at the slightest touch, his Belstaff fell victim to a client's pet skunk, secreted into the flat in a Tesco bag, and he had a miserable stomach bug that resisted even John's conscientious care. More troubling still, he couldn't hail a cab to save his life.

Not one to give over to self pity, Sherlock had, nevertheless, become quite discouraged. As he tossed and turned in bed, his stomach churning, his Mind Palace took him to a dusty cramped room marked, "Mummy's sage advice". He abhorred her quaint adages but his eye was drawn to a yellowed card which read, "Desperate times call for desperate measures." Just so.

The next day after John had gone to the clinic, Sherlock launched an investigation. Reaching for John's laptop, he quickly reconsidered. "No, my dear Watson. I'll not have you snooping in my search history, this is embarrassing enough as it is."

Researching a website called The Traveling Witch, he called up "How To Break A Curse". Soon he was immersed in a bath of epsom salt, bay leaves, fennel and jasmine, after which he cleaned the flat- floors, doors and windows with the a solution of the same "hex breaking herbs". Perhaps, he reasoned, it was mind over matter, but he DID seem to feel much better. His attempt to play his violin was successful, and his beloved coat was returned to him none the worse for it's "experience".

Coming home that night, John was delighted to find Sherlock much improved and even open to actually eating a full meal. "Good thing you ordered in Indian then, innit."

Sherlock blinked in confusion, "Indian? As in food?"

"No, Indian as in Cowboys and Indians, git. Of course food."

"Why would you think I got takeaway?"

John smiled, "The smells, Sherlock. There's bay leaf, fennel and that's jasmine I think."

The detective blushed bright pink and blurted out, "That's me, John. I mean not me exactly, but my new, ah, bath gel. Yes! New bath gel, that's it."

" Must be brilliant stuff to get you this excited. Let's see." John then proceeded to sniff at the raven curls. "That's the smell. I like it, but I don't fancy dining on your follicles and getting a hair ball, even a fragrant one. Besides, I think maybe fish and chips would better serve. What do you reckon?"

" I agree John, my digestion may not be up to high spice just yet."

When the doctor returned with dinner, Sherlock was studiously typing away on his keyboard. "Are you using my laptop again because I told you... Wait, you aren't. That's your own. Will miracles never cease?"

"Ha, bloody, ha. I AM capable of listening to you."

"Capable, yes. Inclined to- not so much. Good on ya. Let's eat, cold chips are a bit not good."

***~~~***

 

The following few days brought an opportunity for John to work extra shifts and Sherlock didn't complain once. Instead he seemed content to stay in the flat and do - what exactly John didn't know. But if the genius was happy, he wasn't going to upset the balance.

Sherlock had discovered "free-witchcraft-spells.com" and was fascinated. First, he accessed an employment and money spell, guaranteed to provide work and prosperity. Following the instructions Sherlock sat down with a length of green yarn,(Ta to Hudders knitting basket), a pound note and some pine oil. Rubbing the yarn with the pine oil he began tying five knots, reciting a line with each knot tied: Knot of one, the spell's begun; Knot of two, I make it true; Knot of three, prosperity; Knot of four, bring me more; Knot of five, the spell's alive.

He then rolled the pound note into a tube and rapped the yarn around it tightly without tying another knot. The talisman was then safely hidden in the kitchen. Now he would wait.

 

"Sherlock, has Mrs.Hudson bought us a new deodorizer for the fridge, or have you gotten a Christmas tree two months early?"

"Neither John, I just..." He fairly leapt up when his mobile sounded a text alert. "Come along John, we have a CASE!"

 

It had barely been a two, but Sherlock had behaved as if he had solved the greatest mystery of the universe. "That was exhilarating John, I despaired of ever having a case again, and a five figure cheque, FIVE FIGURES for that- child's play."

He turned to see John smiling, his eyes filled with affection. That was when he decided, tomorrow he would explore love spells.

***~~~***

"Aphrodisiac Passion Tea" sounded positively inane, but Sherlock had become a believer. In for a penny, in for a pound. John was due any minute, so he quickly brewed the potion.  
1 pinch rosemary, 1 pinch thyme, 1 pinch damiana, 1 pinch nutmeg, 2 teaspoons black tea leaves, 3 mint leaves, 3 rose petals, 3 small pieces of lemon zest. 

The mixture steeped as Sherlock set his mind to "thinking sexy thoughts" as the spell instructed. Strangely, he found that part not the least bit difficult. The doctor came in just as the large spoonful of honey was added to the mix. Sherlock was flushed from head to toe both from the heat of the boiling kettle and the vision of Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers in full dress uniform complete with dog tags. "Hello John, I've made tea."

"So I see, to what do I owe the honor?"

"Little enough to do for my best friend."

The blogger was speechless but his heart swelled with happiness. The only sour note was his stupid headache, he took one sip of the tea and knew the overly sweet blend wouldn't sit well. He just couldn't bring himself to disappoint Sherlock who seemed so pleased to be doing something nice for him, so he opted for a slight obfuscation and misdirection. 

"Sherlock this is stellar, but I have a pounding headache. While I enjoy this, would you get me the migraine pills? Upstairs."

"Certainly John, anything else? Slippers or an ice pack?"

"No, think I'll have a wash after my tea, then we can eat. Might help."

Sherlock dashed off and John flew to the kitchen where he dumped the tea down the sink. He felt bad, but hadn't really lied. He DID have a horrid head, and the tea was tasty, just not the best remedy for the night. Safely back in his chair when Sherlock returned, he raved over the exotic new tea blend not realizing he had broken Sherlock's "spell".

 

***~~~***

SEX

All the next day, Sherlock seemed to hover around and over John as if expecting some momentous event. When John went off to bed none the wiser, he thought his friend seemed inexplicably sad. Another uneventful day, and John was alarmed to note that Sherlock was becoming visibly distressed. Unable to cajole an explanation from the man himself, John employed his own "desperate measure". 

 

"Sorry to bother you Mycroft, but I'm at my wits end. He was like a giddy kid, and now...Well, I haven't worried about a danger night in a long while but...Any ideas Mycroft?"

Sitting at his antique desk Mycroft switched his mobile to speaker as he scrolled through the hacked browser history of his younger brother. "Have you not been mildly amused at Sherlock's deliberate use of his own laptop these last days, doctor?"

"How do you...no, never mind. I can deduce the answer. What of it?"

"Perhaps his intention was to keep his activities from your view. I suggest if you want to solve the mystery, you show Sherlock the same respect for his privacy that he has always shown you. By the way, before you object, I'm well aware of the password protection on said laptop which, of course, means nothing to me. Therefore you will find the necessary documents have been forwarded to yours. Have a good evening, John, and enjoy your reading."

He only had an hour or so to wait until Sherlock went to bed mired in his malaise. As John read, he was at first surprised at the content, then charmed and finally stricken. Whatever the reason, Sherlock had come to not only believe in the curse, but had come to embrace it's cure and other facets of "White Magic." Trying to be kind, John realized he had accidentally trod on the tender heart that Sherlock hid from the world. Sherlock Holmes had cast a love spell, brewed a romance potion for him- For HIM, and by God John Watson was NOT going to fail him again!

***~~~***

The tricky part had been to get Sherlock out of the flat. Finally, he managed to convince him that only the great detective could select the proper candy for them to give out for Halloween. Knowing Sherlock would need to satisfy his sweet tooth by tasting each morsel, he felt sure the afternoon was his to prepare. Soon he was mixing the perfect Passion Oil. Sandlewood, cinnamon, ginger and almond oils and one whole clove. The flat now smelled good enough to eat, and he hoped Sherlock would take the hint, but John wasn't leaving anything to chance. "By the pricking of my thumbs, I'll be ready when he comes."

 

The sun had set and the moon appeared before Sherlock arrived home to find the flat lit only by the gas fireplace and fragrant beyond belief. "John, are you here? I've all the candy we need and more. John?"

A disembodied voice floated from behind Sherlock's bedroom door. "Venture in and you shall find, all the dreams that fill your mind. Come to see and find your joy, I summon thee to me posh boy."

Sherlock couldn't stop his hands from trembling as he opened the door. The room was filled with flickering candles and, best of all, a very naked John Watson draped across the bed like a male succubus waiting to drain Sherlock of all his life force. His mind scolded "delete", succubus are female, but this succubus was John and HE was definitely ALL male. Screw the mythology, as a matter of fact- just screw period!

John wasted no time in claiming a series of gentle and then heated kisses, his demon tongue a welcome companion. Asking permission without words, he soon had Sherlock stripped to his alabaster skin which prickled with the chill and prompted John to engulf him in a blazing embrace. John found his voice and continued. "I adore you my beautiful man, and I won't start this with a lie. I've read your research and I need to apologize. I didn't know the tea was meant to be an aphrodisiac and I didn't drink it. It was delicious, but I couldn't have kept it down. But I've conjured my own potion of Passion Oil and would greatly admire testing how well it works. I only hope you aren't too angry, love."

Sherlock climbed into his lap like a boneless creature born of pleasure and purred, "You see but you do not observe, John. How could I be angry with the answer to my incantations. I only feared they hadn't worked."

"Let's not put all our future in tea leaves and potions shall we, let's write our own spells."

The Passion Oil lived up to it's promise until both men were in danger of sliding off the sheets and desolved into fits of giggles and snorts. It was magic however in that it proved a supernatural substitute for the lube which neither of the "warlocks" had thought to procure. In the end, they were True Believers in their own brand of Witchcraft and of their spectacular orgasms.

"Fortunately, John, your oil was much preferred to spit, no matter how enticing the mouth from which it would have come."

John shook his head fondly, "Don't know if that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard or the scariest."

Throwing himself on top of John, Sherlock snogged him breathless then whispered, "BOO!!!!"

***~~~***

Halloween morning, John was glad he had locked the candy safely away from his man-child boyfriend. Evidently, round the clock clock sex made Sherlock ravenous, and empty wrappers made poor treats for their expected small visitors. He had decided to wear his uniform as a costume which pleased Sherlock no end. For his part, the detective wasn't as sure.

"I had hoped to be a pirate, but due to your enthusiastic ravaging of my transport, I may need to be a cowboy."

"And what you lunatic, does shagging have to do with what you wear?"

Sherlock grinned wickedly, "You tell me, John. When was the last time you saw a bow legged pirate, matey?"

Before a snarky reply could arrive, a truly frightening sight materialized, "Mycroft! What are you doing here?"

"A veritable delight as always brother mine. I simply popped by to congratulate the happy couple on their spellbinding success."

"What do you know about it?"

"How do you think your John gained access to your laptop. That would be me, by the way. You're welcome. And I am happy for you both. It seems we all have cause for celebration."

"All? What are you nattering on about now, brother? This is boring me."

"Then I shan't take up much more of your time, but I find myself owing you my thanks in return, Sherlock. Your foray into the world of Witchcraft provided unexpected benefits for me as well. Gregory sends his grateful appreciation to you for providing me with the wonderful new tea blend. He has become quite addicted to it and, it seems, myself as well. WE should love to have you as our guests for supper after we have finished moving the last of Gregory's belongings to my residence. Well, there you have it, all my news. I'll just leave you to it then, shall I? Dear me John, my brother seems to have been struck mute. Best take advantage while you can, yes? Happy Halloween."

Sherlock could only stammer as he stood frozen in shock watching Mycroft disappear down the stairs.

Meanwhile, John, overcome with sinful glee, fairly cackled, "Curses and Witchcraft and Sex. Oh My!!"

**Author's Note:**

> The websites referenced are real. The validity of the results of the spells is up to you.
> 
> May you have a hauntingly happy Halloween! Blessed Be.


End file.
